


here's the thing, my youth is yours

by beepbedeep



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: F/F, am i projecting the answer is maybe!!, and we think about it FOREVER, but do NOT talk about that!!, deeply in love with each other, leah and fatin have a Talk, ohHO sometimes our moms, say things one time, they are also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beepbedeep/pseuds/beepbedeep
Summary: Thisisn’tabout the four different times Fatin has brought herself nose to nose with Leah in the past week, the times Leah was sure they were about to kiss, the times she really wanted her to. That’snot the point right now.
Relationships: Fatin Jadmani/Leah Rilke
Comments: 29
Kudos: 261





	here's the thing, my youth is yours

“Why haven’t you ever, like, _dated_ any of these guys?” It’s the fifth day of the second month of the third week after they escaped the island-and-the-weird-bunker, Leah is splayed across Fatin’s bed, (which is predictably covered in every kind of furry, soft, or fluffy pillow imaginable) and she doesn’t want to move for at least the next three hours. Coming back to the normal world has been _weird_ and overwhelming, but somehow in Fatin’s room, cloaked in her pink shag rug, sea of crop tops, and music accoutrements, Leah’s world stops spinning and she can breathe again. (Although, admittedly, that might have less to do with the fairy lights strung around the ceiling and more to do with Fatin herself, who has quickly become the person Leah spends the most time with) 

And nothing this morning is more interesting than an innocuous seeming book she pulled out from Fatin’s shelf to kill time while Fatin _slowly_ woke herself up. (Leah’s never had this kind of friendship before, not even with Ian who she’s spent 90% of her life with. This morning she woke up and went _straight_ to Fatin’s, even though she knew the other girl would still be asleep, and the best part is that she was _totally welcome_ to. Fatin greets Leah with a smile, or a muffled groan from under the covers, at any time and if any of them learned something on the island it might just have been how to _really not get sick of other people_. 

(The eight of them spend at least half their time together right now, like a flock of chicks too scared to venture out into the rest of the world, and they’re happy like this, holding hands and remembering who they all used to be.) 

This new book, this journal, turns out to be a list of “People I Have A Crush On – 7th Grade Edition) turned to _everyone Fatin’s ever slept with_ , in glitter gel pen with little flowers around the edges of the pages. It’s such a silly window into part of Fatin’s psyche that Leah never really gets to see, a younger, softer, sappy and shy version of the unshakeable girl she knows now, and as she flips through the pages, from 6th grade wistfulness to 10th grade body counts, the undeniable _Fatin-ness_ of it all makes this little notebook the most precious thing she’s held in a long time. 

Fatin of course sits up, sees her looking at it, and flies across the room in 0.2 seconds to full body tackle her and attempt a glitter-pen-journal-extraction, but Leah clings onto it for dear life. After a struggle, significantly less intense than their island era fights, Fatin sits back, pulls hair out of her mouth, and grins. “Don’t tell anyone about this.” 

“That Fatin Jadmani has _feelings_? About _other people_? That she kind of wants to remember all the many, many boys she’s fucked and writes about it in _glitter gel pen_?”

“Hey, _people_. I’m an equal opportunity employer. And _the pen is for posterity I’ll have you know_.” 

Leah, trying for an appropriate amount of faux-solemnity, can’t hold back her smile. “Cross my heart. Now _please_ let me finish reading this _masterpiece_. I mean, Fatin, this is highbrow literature right here!” 

Fatin chases her back across the room which is how Leah ends up flopped on the bed for respite while Fatin brushes out her hair, trying to come up with the courage to ask Fatin about this question she’s had for a while. Fatin is _great_ , she’s pretty and funny and super talented and smart and makes the time fly by and- Leah catches herself because this is _not the point_. This isn’t about the four different times Fatin has brought herself nose to nose with Leah in the past week, the times Leah was _sure_ they were about to kiss, the times she really _wanted her to_. That’s not the _point right now_. This is about people Fatin actually liked, liked enough to actually kiss, liked enough to actually write their names down in the journal she’s been keeping for the past eight years. 

And when Leah looks up after she finally spits out the question, _why haven’t you ever dated these people_ , Fatin is looking at her with this unbearable kind of softness, so quick and fast that Leah almost doesn’t see before Fatin slips back on her game face, her I Am Fatin Jadmani Hear Me Roar face that Leah can mostly see through by now but still likes the performance of, the way Fatin plays at being so many different version of herself. The softness was _there_ though, undeniably there, and Leah doesn’t know exactly what to make of it, how to focus on anything else as her entire body erupts in butterflies. 

She’s so caught up in NOT being caught up by Fatin that she almost misses the response. (Leah can tell she’s accidentally touched a nerve, or not so much a nerve, but a _bone_ , something at the very core of who Fatin is, because she keeps slipping between _FATIN JADMANI_ and the girl who brushes Leah’s hair out of her face when she’s having a panic attack as she answers, and Leah forgets sometimes, that vulnerable Fatin is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “No time, or like, I’m not brave enough. Or something else.” 

“Fatin, you’re the bravest person I know. _Especially_ with this stuff.” 

“Not that kind of brave, Rilke.” 

“What ‘kind of brave’ _Jadmani_?”

Fatin smirks at Leah’s return of the last name. “I’m busy. All the time. Or at least I was before, you know. I’m supposed to go to Julliard. I’m supposed to be a cello prodigy, and I’m not. I never have been.” 

“That’s not true! You’re amazing-“ 

“But that’s all _work_! I liked the cello when I was little, and my parents had just been waiting for me to be good at something, and then I finally had my thing, and by the time it wasn’t fun anymore I’d put in too much work to quit. And until the island, I didn’t think anything could break me out. Remember how I never was at school longer than literally necessary? That’s because of rehearsals, like, constant rehearsals, with Friday nights as my one night off. I didn’t even have real friends until I met you and the others, no way I would have had time for a _boyfriend_.” 

Leah snorts at Fatin’s tone, like someone else might say _dead mouse in the garage_. 

“I never said it had to be a boy.” 

Fatin sets down her hairbrush and presses her palms to her forehead, “Yeah, boys always felt easier, I guess. Easy to know what they want.” She winks. “I’m good at boys.” 

“Oh I can _see that_ ,” Leah waves the journal over her head. “What did you mean about being brave, though? Like you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want! But this is kinda what friends do.” 

Fatin sighs, “Did your mom every say anything weird about dating when you were little? Or not little, but like, ten? Or eleven? Because mine would do this thing, like she’d talk about one of my friends who had just started ‘dating’ like some random other boy in our class, and it was totally like fake-5th-grade-dating, but she always made it seem so colossally _stupid_. And I don’t think she was trying to, I think she just wanted me to focus on other stuff, because that kind of thing was such a big deal for her when she was growing up. And when she said that stuff I always felt so cool, like _Amber_ was holding hands with _Charlie B_ while I was going to a national cello competition, like I knew I was making my mom so happy. I knew that I was winning. And then later, when everything was still about my cello I-” 

“What?” 

“I’m not heartless, you know? Yes, some people in that book weren’t great choices, but a lot of them were fun. And nice. And laughed at my jokes. They were good guys, guys I liked, a few who even asked if I did want to go out with them for like, not sex, and I. I couldn’t.” 

“Even though you liked them?” 

Fatin deflates, all bravado gone, and Leah tugs her over to the bed. She sits with a grateful smile. “Does this all sound completely stupid?” 

“You never sound stupid. And even if you did, I’d still want to hear what you have to say, nerd.” 

“I don’t like playing the cello, you know? I haven’t liked it for a long time. But my parents wanted me to keep playing, and I’m good, and that’s something to cling to. Right? Like yes it’s taking all my time for anything fun and I hate actually playing, but I’m good at it, I’m different than everyone else and dating would just. It would . . .” 

“It’s beneath you. You’re doing incredible things, stuff that most people can’t even dream of, and dating a random boy, just because you kind of liked him, especially if that turned out to be better than what you’d been doing-“ 

“It would make it all a _waste_. Make all my sacrifice a waste. And Leah?” 

“Yes, Fatin?” 

“I’m smart. My mom was proud of me. Dating someone would have been so . . . not that.” 

“Would have?” 

Fatin grins, brighter than she’s been for a while. “You understand how getting stuck in a highly unethical experiment with seven other legitimately hot people might reorganize some of your priorities.” 

Leah laughs, and then Fatin laughs, and then they can’t stop, gasping words out between peals of laughter. “Awww, Fatin! Dot convinced you love is real?” 

And Fatin stops laughing, her hand on Leah’s arm, and _there it is folks! Almost-kiss number 5_. And Fatin’s eyes flick down to Leah’s mouth and Leah can feel time stop, feel herself leaning closer, and before anything can happen there’s a hand pounding on the bedroom door, accompanied by a voice that sounds especially like a little brother shouting “Faaaaatin!! Mom says you need to come down for breakfast and two of your friends are here!” 

Moment broken, Fatin flops backwards into her comforter, “Good morning to you too!” and scrunches her nose. “Ready to go down? I think that Shelby wants to go to the beach today. She and Dot are so funny about water.” 

Leah recognizes the opening to one of their favorite jokes “Texans are TOO TOUGH for water!” but instead of making a move towards the door she lays back too. “I didn’t have friends either, really. Not before the island.” 

“You have Ian! And you’ve always had people who liked you.” 

“Ian is great, but it’s different. I’ve never had a group, not like this. Wanna hear something silly?” 

“After all my disgustingly sappy confessions from this morning? Yes, please!” 

“I always wanted someone whose clothes I could wear. My cousin brought his girlfriend to Christmas one year, when I was pretty little, but she was wearing this sweatshirt that I _knew_ was his, and I was so jealous. To be a part of someone like that? But I never had that kind of friend. Even, even _Jeff_ -“ (Fatin gags at the sound of his name) “Everything we did was a secret, so I couldn’t take anything that belonged to him and-“ 

They’re interrupted by the piecing sound of not one but TWO little brothers screaming Fatin’s name and Fatin finally sits up with a groan. “We’d better get down there, before strike number three. Ready?” 

Leah nods, without sitting up. Fatin disappears into her closet for a second, Leah hears at least three things fall and a muffled _oops, fuck_. After a few more seconds of struggle she reemerges, and before Leah can see what’s going on she’s hit in the stomach by something soft and dark blue. 

It’s a sweatshirt. 

It’s _Fatin’s_ sweatshirt, with a logo that looks like music notes on the front and words that Leah’s assuming are about a cello competition on the back, she definitely recognizes the word "finalist". She didn’t know Fatin even had clothes like this, but somehow it’s incredibly cute, an old souvenir from an old competition carefully kept in the back of her closet, _and now tossed to Leah??_ Fatin already has the door open, Leah can hear Texan accents drawling their way up the stairs, carried by the smell of breakfast, but just before Fatin leaves the room she turns back with a smile that Leah would _almost_ call shy, “In case it’s cold today, Rilke.”


End file.
